Author's Note: I was encouraged after finding so many positive reviews. Sorry I can't answer each one, but I just wanted to say thank you. I tried to take more time to write and give you a longer chapter. I know how much I hate short chapters too. L

Chapter 4

Christine walked about the strange room that she had awoken in. She would never have expected to find herself in such a room. It was large and richly furnished with a large four poster bed, small desk, dresser, wardrobe, vanity, and of course the tall, curtained windows that ran along the outside wall. She had never had a room like this before. Her room at Madame Giry's was small and humble, but it served its purpose, and she could not imagine having more.

A tall, ornate mirror lay against one wall, opposite of the bed. She ran her fingers along the edges, admiring the elaborate golden, floral frame. The mirror itself was cold to the touch. She glided her long, slender fingers over the glass and pulled back suddenly. A strange feeling coursed through her for a moment and then was gone.

My dress, she suddenly thought. Glancing down at her attire, she noticed that the sodden gown she wore in the forest had been replaced with a soft, very feminine nightgown. But who had attended her? She shrunk back in embarrassment.

Opening the large wardrobe, she found an assortment of dresses. Finding no trace of her own, Christine chose a modest green gown and silently thanked the woman who would be lending her the dress. After changing and brushing her hair before the vanity, she sat down before the smaller mirror and looked at her reflection. Her hair looked somewhat improved, the curls tucked back neatly behind her shoulders. But her face looked very pale. She brought a hand to her cheek as though not believing what the mirror was showing her. The sensation suddenly triggered a memory. A memory of the dream that she had gratefully forgotten. Even now, she could feel the sensation of being so along and vulnerable, unable to move, and watching as icy hands moved towards her neck.

She drew her hand down along her neck and a shiver fled her body. Now, when she met her eyes in the mirror, she noticed how wide they had become. Filled with such fright! But there was something else in the depths of her wide, glistening eyes that seemed foreign to her. It felt as though she were looking at someone else in the mirror. She immediately drew away from the vanity, nearly knocking over the plush chair that stood before it. Her heart was racing and she didn't know why.

Christine slowly made her way towards the door. She had heard no one approach it and was reluctant to leave the safety of the room, but something compelled her to venture out. Cracking the door open as softly as she could, she peered out and glanced down a darkened hallway. The room she had slept in seemed to be in the middle of a long corridor. But to the left, and further down, a soft glow flickered on the walls. A fire, she thought.

She snuck out, inching her way slowly down the hall, with only the soft rustle of her gown betraying her subterfuge. As she approached the end of the hallway, she found an entrance to a larger room on the right. On the far wall, an impressive fireplace with a large crackling fire beckoned to her. The soft glow was enticing and she could not resist slipping from the shadows and gliding into the room towards the fireplace. Nothing else mattered. She stood only a short distance away and warmed her hands in the heat from the fire. The fire warmed her face and she found her lips pulling back into a smile.

"Play me a song, papa!"

"What would you like me to play?"

"Anything!"

"Alright, my dear. But on one condition. . .you must sing."

She smiled softly at the memory, finding her gaze drifting off through the flickering of the flames. She could hear the beautiful melody of her father's violin as he played. She could remember when she first lifted her voice in song and the gentle tilt of his head as he encouraged her on.

The water is wide, I can't cross o'er
Nor do I have light wings to fly
Build me a boat that can carry two
And both shall row... my love and I.

A ship there is and she sails the sea
She's loaded deep as deep can be
But not so deep as the love I'm in
And I know not how I sink or swim.

I leaned my back up against an oak
Thinking he was a trusty tree
But first he bended, and then he broke
And thus did my false love to me.

She remembered the songs entirety. Christine found her lips moving in silence as the song rang in her mind. But as it persisted, she could no longer stay silent and found herself caught up in the pleasant memory. She raised her voice in song, not caring that she was in a strange place, far from any friends and much farther from the family she used to have. Nothing mattered anymore. Only this moment and this song.

I put my hand into a bush
The sweetest flower there to find
I pricked my finger to the bone
And left the sweetest flower alone.

Oh, love is handsome and love is fine
It's like a gem when first it's new
But love grows old and waxes cold
And fades away like the morning dew.

As the last line slipped from her lips, she found herself overcome with emotion and unable to end on a clear note. Her voice grew hoarse and a sob broke from her mouth. She raised her hands to cover her face. But as she began to weep silently, she did not notice the movement in the shadows. She had failed to look around the room. But she was so distraught for the moment, and nothing would have roused her from the emotion, that the shadow paused, lingering in the doorway before slipping out unnoticed.

She slowly began to regain her composure and brushed away the tears from her face. The warmth of the fire was soothing on her tear-stained face. It almost took the place of a gentle hand. Christine sunk down on her knees before the fire, pressing her hands together in a silent prayer, when suddenly a voice sounded in the room.

"Why do you cry, my child?"

"Whose there?" she replied, glancing about the room but finding no one. Still the voice sounded as though it were spoken right near her ear.

"You asked for an angel, did you not?"

The voice was so soft and gentle, that she felt as though she would weep for joy at the sound. Surely angels would not visit mere mortals such as her! She never really expected one to come. But now that she heard the disembodied voice, and faintly remembered hearing it before, she knew that this was no normal human voice. It must truly be heaven-sent.

She nodded gently, feeling at ease with the strange voice and unusually candid. "My father told me an angel would watch over me. Yes. . .I prayed for one. But I did not expect. . ."

"Why is your voice filled with sorrow? There is no joy in what you sing. No emotion then utter despair. Why?" asked the voice.

"I miss him terribly. He is dead, and I have no one now. Even Madame Giry is gone. I have no home. They. . .they cast me out of the town," she cried out in frustration. "I did not want to believe their horrid stories. But I was so scared. . .I thought I would die." She paused for a moment, thinking back to the night when she had been left alone in the woods. The voice.

She glanced up quickly, as though to meet a face that was not there, and asked, "Was it you? Did you come to me at the tree and carry me away?"

There was a long pause when the voice did not answer and she began to worry that the angel was gone. But soon his beautiful, deep voice sounded again.

"Yes, child. Now clear your mind of troubles and rest your weary head."

The voice rose in song to such glorious heights that Christine's heart soared. But after it reached its heavenly crescendo, it softened to a lullaby, and she found her limbs grow tired. She lay down upon the soft rug near the fire and rested her head upon her arms. The voice carried her into sleep. When she lay silent, bathed in the soft glow of the fire, the shadow dared to step closer and nearly lifted a finger to the smooth skin of the young woman's cheek. But it suddenly recoiled, as though such contact was forbidden, and sunk back into the shadows.

Q & A

VeroniqueClaire – Yes, I've written fanfic for other shows, most of it being scifi (closet geek here L) and my own original stories. I finally felt the drive to put out my own POTO story. The lurking wasn't enough.

Chantal – Sorry to disappoint with not incorporating the full-facial deformity. I appreciate Leroux's version and highly respect Kay's work. I find the half-face deformity an interesting contradiction in itself - angel/demon, beauty/horror. The one question I have with the general full facial deformity described in the books is how lacking a nose can produce a pleasing voice. The nose is very involved with the end product of the voice. That aspect of the deformity just doesn't work for me. L Another note – I am currently in a 12 step program to get over Gerard Butler, so this is my way of incorporating some of him into my work to get it out of my system. Kidding. :)